


Always Hungry

by Death_Herself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Interviews, M/M, Overdosing, Song Lyrics, Team Red
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_Herself/pseuds/Death_Herself
Summary: In 2009, Team Red was formed by Wade Wilson and Jack Hammer after they met a vocalist named Peter Parker and an attorney turned guitarist, Matt Murdock. Together they took over the world as a gothic rock band with a sound similar to that of The Cure.Performing on stage isn't the only drug of choice for Wade and Peter. And in his first ever exclusive interview, Wade tells reporter Mary Jane Watson everything all the TeamMates out there are dying to know.





	Always Hungry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chainsmokingnun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsmokingnun/gifts).



> When I suggested this idea to chainsmokingnun, I didn't quite realize how hard it would be. "Write a prompt like the prompter would write said prompt." I think I barely scraped the surface of how my bestest friend would write it, but no where close to their level of poetic writing style. Nun is a playwright after all. XD
> 
> You're amazing, Nun! I love you so, so much. This was a lot of work and stress, but so worth it. I really hope you like it. I could write a long declaration of love and what not, buuuuuuut....I don't want to rip you off. :D
> 
> Soooooo.... Here's your prompt with my slight modifications. Please cry.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Wilson. We-”

His fingers pull away from his worried lips long enough to genteelly interrupt the red head. “Wade, please.”

It must shine bright, all the pain and torment pulsing inside of him, because a forced attempt of a comforting smile curls the corners of her mouth. “ _Wade_. As I was saying, we know you’re not one for interviews. Take as much time as you need.”

Mary Jane Watson, journalist for a reputable news station and known fan of his music, but not a fan of his. Wade lets his tired blue eyes that are outlined in smudged black, roam over her perfectly airbrushed skin. Taking note of the rouge bloomed cheeks, and imitation blood stained lips.

They’ve met before, many a times. Every time was the same and they hated each other for each encounter. Their passion was for the same man and it was a battleground of whose passion was greater.

“Let’s start with how you met your bandmates?” Her jade colored eyes pierce through him. Body displaying subtle signs of that deep consuming hatred she harbored for him.

Wade takes a deep breath to settle himself. Adjusting his long legs and running his palm over the tight black jean covering his thigh. Before he can give into his anxiety with the entire situation, he manages to find his voice. No matter how tired it sounds and how raw his throat feels, he continues.  

“It was the summer of ‘09, in this dingy little bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Jack Hammer and I were looking for some genuine talent to work with-”

-

 

 _“_ _And I'm begging t_ _o drag you down with me, t_ _o kick the last nail in. Y_ _eah, I like you in that. L_ _ike I like you to scream, b_ _ut if you open your mouth t_ _hen I can't be responsible f_ _or quite what goes in o_ _r to care what comes out._ _”_

A soft yet powerful voice, full of passion and euphoria ran through the shoddy speaker system. In all his years of studying vocalist and local artists, Wade had never heard someone sound as close to Robert Smith as this _creature_ onstage. So amorously poised with his eyes closed, mousy hair curled at his ears, and hands painting the picture alongside his voice. Natural. Free.

Slender and beautiful, neither predominantly male nor female in looks. He could have sworn the kids skin glowed under par cans hot enough to burn. A presence so ethereal, so overwhelming, and Wade couldn’t look away.

The set rapidly ended just as it began, leaving Wade hungry for more. So much more. His eyes not leaving the creature for the rest of the night.

Big hazel eyes glued to sweaty bodies on the pallet passing for a stage. High on the performance of others as much as his own. Pale fingers picked at themselves, soft pink lips mouthed along with the lyrics, and Wade knew he was in love before he even spoke to the creature.

But the bassist didn’t dare approach him, not even when their eyes met.

“It’s just the two of us, Wade. There’s no way we can pull off the competition.”

Wade forced himself to look to his ratty best friend and drummer with a smirk, “That’s why we are scouting.”

“I thought that meant picking up babes.” Jack mumbled into his drink and eyeballs the filthy crowd of this hellhole bar.

The young thing close to the stage moved towards the bathroom. Wade couldn’t pinpoint why this was when he felt brave enough, but he followed immediately and felt no harm in abandoning his best friend.

Admittedly, he was a touch shocked to find someone so seemingly innocent bent over the sink and inhaling sharply over powdery lines on a grimy sink. Their eyes met in the mirror when the creature lifted his head and rubbed at his irritated nostrils.

“We should talk. Lemme buy you a drink, sweet cheeks?”

 

-

 

“He’s the easiest person to get along with. So naturally talented, always full of wonder. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe Peter. We hit it off instantly, formed Team Red and the music wrote itself. We met Murdock a few months later.”

Green eyes narrow as Wade’s hazy eyes return to the present. Their gaze connecting and all that hatred sparking once again. Skepticism is her native language. She’s not happy with his answers, and he knows why. “Tell us about the first tour seven years ago.”

Wade looks from fiery eyes to the camera behind her. “Our first album and tour wasn’t a success. The world wasn’t ready for his voice yet.”

 

-

 

Bright lights shone directly at them, making sweat drip at an almost alarming rate. Pulsing from the subwoofers shooting tingles through their skin until it was numb. As always, there’s a relentless call to stay sharp and somehow let the passion for music be seen while standing before a crowd.

It’s no wonder that at two in the morning winding down is naturally hopeless.

Attentive eyes stick to Peter as he continuously paces the lobby floor and runs his trembling fingers through his sweat drenched hair. He’s unhappy, Wade notes. Somewhere along the way of the performance the singer feels he made a mistake. A perfectionist through and through. Wade knowingly smiles to himself.

“You caught it didn’t you?” Fiercely anxious stare snags on Wade.

“You recovered smoothly. That’s all one can do.”

A contemplative nod, nervous finger biting, and graceful movements of a lithe body. Wade noticed all of it, he always did. It was impossible not to. He was in love. “Your voice is going to swoon the world as soon as they pull their heads out of there asses, sweet cheeks. You’ll see.”

Peter snorted and really looked at Wade this time, who motioned for the vocalist to follow him.

There are ways to wind down, one just needs a little help.

The two have been bandmates and friends for just over a year at this point. Creatively connected, mentally equal, and both desperate for something to keep them going.

Wade has always found that something in the sweet embrace of brown sugar. If he was being honest, he felt bad for introducing that tender hug to such a beautiful face. He never forced Peter to join him, but showing an addict a better high is just as bad.

Selfish, so exceedingly selfish.

A piece of Peter belonged to him in the private moments of shooting up. Trust and bliss from someone so unique. Wade couldn’t resist drinking it in, devouring it, and letting the moments make him as high as the goddamn heroin.

Whether it was the smack, the aftershock of performing, or the gratitude for being his friend, Wade prayed the soft kisses pressed to his lips meant as much to Peter as they did him.  

 

-

 

The glint on his glossy nail polish was enough to hold Wade’s attention. He had gone into this interview for reasons he couldn’t quite justify at the moment. It was for Peter. It was for himself. He was just so tired.

“Team Red’s breakthrough album was two years later. That tour caused a lot of media uproar.” Her pen scratched against the papers on her lap.

Wade huffed out a bitter laugh, running his fingers through his styled blonde hair. “You mean the incident that got me banned from Berlin?”

 

-

 

Peter’s hazel doe eyes dazzled as he spoke, and Wade found himself falling deeper and madder in love with the twenty-two year old.

“-think about it, it’s more than just- Wade!” The soft, gasping way his name fell from soft pouty lips was dangerously addictive. His hands tightened around the slender waist, hugging Peter ever so closer. “You’re brave today, sweetie.”

Vanilla and rum, heated skin and sweet sweat, Wade inhaled it all deeply as his nose ghosted Peter’s neck. “Seeing you perform is the closest I will get to God, baby boy. I’m allowed to be brave. At least for now.”

Pale cheeks bloomed soft roses. “You think too highly of me, Wade. I’ll have no need for fans when I have you.”

Wade chuckled deep in his throat, pressing his lips to the precious pink cheeks. The bar was mostly quiet, last call having ended moments after they arrived. “Come on. We can have more fun back at the hotel.”

 _“It’s gruesome that someone so handsome should care. La, la-la, la-la, la-la, this charming maaaaan.”_  He smiled back at Wade after his belted out lyrical response, pulling out of the warm arms around him. “We can head back as soon as I use the restroom. For real use the restroom.” Peter tacked on when Wade’s eyes narrowed.

Berlin, gorgeous and lively, welcomed Team Red with open arms. Wade was pleasantly surprised, but of course, he did not let his guard down. Many ‘humans’ were not accepting of something as simple as being attracted to someone of the same sex. Wade did his usual amount of research of the culture and language to avoid these ‘humans’.

Hearing ‘schwanzlutscher’, one of those cultural code words alerting him of a vile creature in the vicinity, shouted from the bathroom door Peter had disappeared behind was more than his on edge mind could process.

Blurs and swishes. Brown sugar and amber whiskey. Love and worship.

Whatever the real reason behind him tearing through the bar to the bathroom was, it doesn’t matter. Wade just knows he’s never felt his heart pound against his ribcage in such panic and fear. Knows every rushed step on the hardwood could be one too late. No, no, no. Wade wouldn’t allow that to happen. **Nothing** and **noone** will harm Peter Parker.

The door banged against the wall, and no longer dazzling and lively hazel eyes shot up to meet Wade. Two bulky bodies stilled under Wade’s hellish fire gaze, completely unprepared for a bloodthirsty man to come to their victim’s rescue.

A very bloodthirsty man.

Peter watched in horror from the dirty bathroom floor as, Wade Winston Wilson, his twenty-five year old friend turned the smug faces of two German jerk wads into something not even their mothers could recognize. He shook, unable to look away or move as red sprayed the tiled wall and cement floor. It was so terrifyingly easy for Wade to take on two men his size. A realization that made bile burn at Peter’s esophagus.

It was over as quickly as it began. Ending with Wade, bloodied and shouting in what Peter figured to be German, being pulled off the attackers and dragged out of the bar by two cross police.

For threatening people of the city and engaging in violence, Wade was given two options: six years prison time or permanent barred entry from Germany.

 

-

 

“As you can imagine it makes touring Europe nearly impossible.” Wade’s lips curl into a fond smile after wrapping up his diluted details of the events. Miss Watson did not need a lot of the details, especially not the ones she desperately wanted.

His smile widened at the stifled exasperated sound the redhead made before moving on to her next question. “ _Shades of Red_ was released in 2014 and I think most Teammates would agree that it is the best album the four of you have created. Who is the lyricist amongst you?”

Wade’s breath visibly catches, “Peter.”

Sympathy runs through her cold features and he hates it. “What about Matthew Murdock? What exactly does he do?”

“Well,” Wade forces himself to perk up, “I argue he’s a waste of space. Peter would argue that he’s important as our guitarist. Matty gave up his law firm to pursue music. His fiancé makes us food. So, I suppose he’s useful by extension.”

Mary Jane actually laughs. “Foggy Nelson as a personal chef is what dreams are made of. We had him on the show last month. He called you a diva.”

“Diva?” He smirks and looks to the camera, shaking his head. “Foggy and Jack seem to agree on everything. I suppose I’m a diva, if that means I expect things to be perfect.”

'Just like Peter.' Wade's smile fades with the thought.

“The _Shades of Red_ tour had amazing lighting and a lot of subliminal messages”

Wade nodded slowly.

 

-

 

Lights dancing like spiders across the back drop behind the four men on stage, and strobes flashing like rapid gunfire wowed the crowd before them. Images of dancing devils and fire played on the screens. It was edgy and beautiful. Thanks to Jack’s wide variety of skills the band was able to stun and please their audience. Peter though, Peter didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was hitting the notes just right.

And when the lights faded to black, and the audience became louder than the fading speakers, the men filed off stage to bask in their job well done. Any and all anxiety came flooding back to the lead singer, searching for Wade and finding his lover already smiling and leading him off to the bus. They’d be at the hotel soon enough.

A bed so soft, and lights low enough to only see each other. They both craved this sense of peace. As much as they craved the drugs working out of their bloodstream.

“Wade.” Peter sighed softly against his neck. Blankets nested around them, dim light catching on their soft pale skin.

The way he said his name was something Wade cherished, he would do anything to hear it. Tracing over the relaxed body in his lap with a gaze of complete adoration as the syringe emptied into Peter’s arm. Such a beautiful person trusted him with absolutely everything and he would never understand why.

Peter pulled back to look down at him after several passing moments of the brown sugar coursing through his veins. “Do you still want me to sing it for you?”

Wade smiled as he filled the syringe again with the heated liquid pooled in the spoon. “Please.”

Their lips touched, connecting a buzzing current within both of them. In the dimly lit room of their hotel room one would find two men in love, but a closer look into the darkness and there's a sadness looms that between them, visible to trained eyes. While they may be in love, there’s a sense of urgency and dependency. Addicts in love is more accurate.

Slipping out of Wade’s lap and onto his feet in the middle of the bed, Peter cleared his throat. His lithe form, covered only by soft blue panties, glowed in the dim light.

“ _On candystripe legs the Spiderman comes._ ”

Loving blue eyes watched his boyfriend slowly run his fingers through his sweaty hair. Hips swaying to music that wasn’t playing, but they both heard. Wade looked down to the tourniquet around his bicep, sliding the point of a needle next to the old bruises of previous needle entries.

“ _Softly through the shadow of the evening sun._ _Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead.”_

The emptied syringe fades like everything else. The only things remaining in Wade’s world were Peter, his hushed voice, and the softness of the hotel bed.

“ _Looking for the victim shivering in bed._ _Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and su_ _denly-”_

Just like Robert Smith, and just like heaven, Peter’s voice is so soft and mesmerizing. When he finally opens his eyes, Wade sees Peter is watching him with dark hazel eyes. They close again, hips still swaying.

 _“A movement in the corner of the room an_ _d there is nothing I can do wh_ _en I realize with fright_ _-”_

Wade joins in, “ _-that the Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight._ ”

A sly smile creeps across Peter’s face, landing on his knees and crawling slowly towards Wade, “ _Quietly he laughs and shaking his head. Cr_ _eeps closer now, cl_ _oser to the foot of the bed.”_

Sliding back into Wade’s lap, Peter wraps his arms around his lover’s neck. Hips slowly grinding to the melody of his voice. Wade joins in with him again, their lips close and teasing, _“And softer than shadow and quicker than flies. H_ _is arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes.”_

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Wade’s heart pounds hard as Peter presses forward, kissing him softly and slowly. Peter pulls back enough to finish singing against Wade’s lips. “ _Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy. Do_ _n't struggle like that or I will only love you more. Fo_ _r it's much too late to get away or turn on the light. Th_ _e Spiderman is having you for dinner tonight.”_

 

_-_

 

The dolled up redhead watched the man as he talked about the evolution of their stage production. He wasn’t focused on the lighting at all, but she knew he wouldn’t share what he was really thinking about. She scanned over the list of questions in her lap. “I think it’s time we got to the heavy stuff, Wade.”

He looked up at her. Everyone knew what she wanted to talk about. It was the real reason he was here. Wade wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. The burning in his eyes ignited before she even opened her mouth.

“It’s been two weeks since-”

 

-

 

“Oh, god… Wade-Wade!” His back arches, eyebrows furrow and quickly relaxes, fingers dig, and velvety insides clench. _Just like heaven._

Wade’s muscled and bruised arms wrap around the small frame beneath him as he stills.

“I love you, Peter.” A soft whisper against Peter’s ear.

“Love you, too.” Peter’s fingers run through Wade’s short blonde hair, humming as the man pulls his spent cock out of his sore hole. Sore meant he needed another hit.

“I need more, baby.” The singer sits up as his lover slips off the bed.

“I don’t think I can go again, baby boy. I’d-”

“I don’t mean sex, Wade.”

He stares at Peter for a long moment. “...I don’t think-”

“Wade, baby, come on.” He smiles the smile he knows Wade can’t resist.

Looking away quickly, Wade tries to focus on the facts. Peter has been doing more and more and even more still when they shoot up. Yes, they were both addicted, but… He sighs and sets the bag next to Peter. “We agreed to start taking it easy, right?”

Gathering the things from the bag Peter nods. “As long as we will help each other.”

Wade couldn’t stop the thought of, ' _he doesn’t really plan to quit.'_ He nodded and smiled as he cleaned himself off and pulled his boxers on. “Of course.”

Another hit coursing through the love of his life, and Wade set the things on the nightstand. He rolled Peter onto his side and pressed his chest against the smaller man’s back. Their show tonight was perfect, they’d been living together in between tours for four years now, and Wade had proposed over the summer. Peter was his, had been his for years. At twenty-six and twenty-nine there was so much for them to experience together.

Wade pressed a kiss to soft sweaty hair and nestled in next to Peter. Their show in Chicago in two days would be one of the biggest of this tour. Highly anticipated and completely sold out. Though nervous, Peter had written a song to debut at the show. As the only one to have heard it, Wade couldn’t wait for the world to finally hear it.

 

-

 

“Wade? Wade??”

Tears dripped onto his fidgeting hands as he looked at Mary Jane again. He couldn’t keep spacing out when she asked questions. This was being recorded and he couldn’t even concentrate.

“Wade, are you okay?” The concern was forced, but still there.

Standing up abruptly, Wade ripped the microphone off and set it on the couch. “I can’t do this.”

“Wade!” Mary Jane stood up quickly, the cameras shifting to capture both of them. “Wade, we need to know. Were you there with him when he overdosed?”

“I can’t talk about this!” He growled at the redhead, making her take a step back. “He’s dead. He’s fucking dead! He was the closest any of us could even hope to get to God and he’s just GONE!”

Wade shoved one of the cameramen out of his way as he stormed out of the staged room. Producers followed him, security followed him, stagehands followed him. But there was no holding Wade in this cage.

 

-

 

He shivered and woke to the feel of something cool against his chest. The sun was gently peeking through a tiny sliver of the curtain. Wade checked the clock, nearly four in the afternoon. They must have overslept.

Something felt off, wrong, horribly wrong.

The moment he touched Peter’s back he stilled, brain processing the wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Peter…”

“Peter…” He moved his hand and the always soft and warm skin of Peter’s back was hard and cool.

“Peter!”

He sat up quickly, trying to turn Peter on to his back, it took more force and effort than it should have. As Wade’s looked over Peter’s blue tinted skin chills ran through his entire body, tongue heavy and tingling in his dry mouth.

“No, no, no, no. Peter! No!” He touched his face and just like his back, it was hard and cool.

“Fuck… no…” He rested his head on his fiancé's chest, listening to silence as his vision blurred with hot and painful tears. “Baby boy… no…”

There was so much left for them to do. So much for Peter to enjoy, and just like that, it was gone. A long moment passed before Wade slipped off the bed and dressed himself with blinding tears reddening his eyes. He took one last look at the stiffened body in the bed and grabbed his phone to make a phone call he could never have prepared himself for.

-

The hotel room was quiet, air stilled and stuffy. It wouldn’t take long for security to come to him after he cut the red tape on the door. Wade didn’t need long in here.

He settled into the spot where he had laid next to Peter that night, running his hand along the messy sheets. Closing his eyes as the burn returned to them. If he kept them closed, he could see Peter sitting in the bed next to him. A soft voice slowly singing the rest of **_Lullaby_ ** to him as he loads bullets into the vintage revolver that Peter had bought him as an anniversary gift.

 

“ _A_ _nd I feel like I'm being eaten by a thousand million shivering furry holes. And I know that in the morning I will wake up in the shivering cold.”_

 

Security burst through the door with guns drawn, commands angry and firm die in their throats as they register what is lying in the bed. Two of them quickly turn away and dry heave, one of them swallows uneasily and speaks into his receiver.

“Better add a coroner to the list of back-up needed.”

A crackly voice of the radio responds, “Why? What’s happening up there?”

The man looks at the blood splatter running down the walls and ceiling, a gun slipping out of a still hand, and the blonde hair speckled with red droplets. The guests of the room next door stand by the door.

“There was a loud bang! Is everything okay?”

Two of the guards empty out of the room and guide the guests back. “You’ll need to talk to the police when they show up.”

The bravest of the three steps towards the gruesome sight, checking the pulse of the still warm body in the bed. As he does, he recognizes the man as the one who found Peter Parker unresponsive two weeks ago, the same man who had stayed the night in this room _with_ the singer. He looks down at the man’s hand loosely clutching a revolver, the glint of a wedding band catching his eye. He straightens and lets out a shaky breath at the strange ethereal glow of the band.

The matching one on a necklace around the man’s neck softly glows in unison with the one snuggly on the man's finger. As if, maybe, they were radiating the love and life of their owners.


End file.
